Resemblance
by Demented Inu
Summary: It's always been Lovino's job to take care of South Mexico. Even over something as stupid as this. S. Mexico/S. Italy.


_Prompt: Daddy issues._

* * *

The greatest surprise of all, Lovino thought, wasn't that Pablo had come home drunk. No, he had become far too used to such an occurrence; in fact, hell, he was usually the one to sober the boy up after a while.

(And yes, to someone as... well, old as Romano, South Mexico was definitely still a "boy." Still with those wide childish eyes and the gawky appearance of a teenager, at the very least.)

Lovino Vargas was the one to pull Pablo Rodriguez up by his shoelaces, pour bitter coffee down his throat, and slap him a few times to make sure he got the message. It wasn't that Lovino minded a bit of alcohol now and again - after all, Italy was the true nation for good wine, si? - no, not that he minded drinking at all, simply that he minded when Pablo would stumble in through the front door drunk off his gourd and covered in bruises from much larger fists.

Yes, Pablo had the certain... well, let's call it a "quirk," of sorts... to get into fights when he got intoxicated. Which would also be fine if Pablo wasn't, first, a mere five-foot-seven and 124 pounds and, second, bearing an awful tendency to lose. Being so light and so prone to defeat (didn't _that_ sound familiar), Pablo often came home without much to brag about, most likely suffering a light concussion and a few cracked ribs. Still, Lovino would sigh and call him an idiot and proceed to clean him up with warm, damp rags and a tall glass of water.

Nobody could mend the boy the way Lovino could except perhaps Pablo's sister, Maria, but she didn't seem to do a fair job of keeping up with her brother's antics. Lovino often made sure to help Pablo stay sober and stay out of harm's way enough by dragging him out places, be it the grocery or the local festivities, or just by keeping up conversation. No matter what people said, Lovino could talk just as much as Feliciano could, so was a natural at keeping Pablo talking too, however silent the other might get. Lovino would ask him about the floods or the Drug War victories, the freed politician that had been kidnapped seven months ago, ask about Maria and how she's faring, ask about anything as long as Pablo kept away from those godforsaken bars.

So no, it wasn't a surprise at all that Pablo had once again tripped into the house completely inebriated. What did surprise him, however, was that the (rather adorable) mop of curly brown hair that Pablo had been sporting was now cut down into something like his teenagers wore, short and clipped but with a nice floppy length in the bangs.

Naturally, Lovino skipped the hellos and instead cut in with, "What the hell happened to your head?"

Pablo reached up a hand to scrape through the poor trimmed chaos of his hair and shrugged. "Cut it."

"It looks like you lost a fight with a lawn mower."

This was replied with a silent flipping of the bird, and Pablo made his dizzy way to the counter instead, where Lovino was currently chopping vegetables for a soup - not pizza this time, since he'd figured that Pablo was getting tired of what Feliciano had once joked as being "Italian flat breads." Pablo looked calmly at him, stole a carrot off the counter, but didn't say anything.

Also not a surprise. Lovino was pretty sure he didn't know a quieter man than Pablo.

"Whatever," Lovino said with his own shrug. His knife skills were efficient in chopping up another onion without tearing up, and he scraped them into the pot. "It's your head, I guess."

For the longest moment, there was that dead silence in the room that often came with Pablo just being... well, eerily quiet. Lovino wondered if he'd said something out of line again, a common occurrence for his tongue to slip out something he didn't quite mean, say something mean without him noticing. But no; Pablo was simply looking down at Lovino's knife and watching his hands scrape more vegetables into the pot, adding spices the way only an Italian could. No words, not even the real acknowledgment that Lovino was there at all.

After a while, Lovino noticed that Pablo's hair kept attracting his attention and distracting it from the food. Why would Pablo bother to cut it anyway? It had been cuter when it was long, hung down in his eyes so that the other had sort of a nervous tic to twitch his head to one side to move the annoying curls. The soft licks of brown hair were great to run his fingers through in the moments they could find to fuck, or maybe just to play with when they were curled up together watching a bad American western movie. And speaking of westerns, the rare times that Pablo would don the _vaquero_ outfit for Lovino wouldn't be the same without the little curls poking out from under the brim of his hat.

Finally, Lovino dropped his stirring spoon and turned to him. "Why the hell would you cut it? It was nice before, now it just looks like shit."

"Gee, love you too," Pablo scoffed, but Lovino couldn't care less. He kept up his glare of confusion at the boy and Pablo sighed. "Look, drop it, okay? I just felt like it."

"Well, it's stupid. I hate it." Lovino reached up, ran his fingers through what little was left on Pablo's head. "You look like some sort of gang member. It's awful."

Pablo waved his hand away in annoyance, his cheeks tinging even pinker than the alcohol already made them. "I said I felt like it. It's none of your business." He fell quiet again, reached up to tug at a non-existent curl, and then dropped his hand as though he'd meant to do that. Both hands slid silently into his pockets as Pablo seemed to suddenly find great interest in the floor. "I just felt like it. It needed to be cut anyway, it... it looked bad."

This was a bit baffling, seeing this sudden streak of self-consciousness shown from his partner. It was his turn to scoff now, rolling his eyes. "No, it looked good. You've gotta be blind as a bat to think it looked bad on you." It was rare that Lovino complimented anyone, but he knew the compliment wouldn't be appreciated right now. Pablo still said nothing, just stared at his feet and frowned. "You're being stupid. It looked great. I mean, had you looked in a mirror at all? The longer hair suited you."

"No, it didn't!" Pablo shouted, suddenly becoming much more animated than before as he waved his hand at his head in frustration. "It looked awful. Absolutely awful. Just a curly... mess I couldn't do anything with. You don't understand, this helps me fit in better with my people and... and it just looks better, okay?"

Lovino blinked at him, his eyebrows knitting for a moment in utter confusion. "The hell is your problem? Calm down,_ ragazzo_, before you give yourself a stroke or something. It's just hair. Calm the fuck down."

The wrong thing to say, as usual, because Pablo looked very distressed at this, eyes wide and a bit vulnerable all of a sudden. "No, it's... it's not that. You're right, it's just hair. You don't understand, just... forget about it."

A slight pause. "Pablo-"

"Forget it."

Another awkward silence set in, and Lovino tried to make sense of what exactly had happened. It _had _been cuter before, he hadn't been lying when he said that. The soft mop of hair when Pablo would just get out of the shower, curly over his eyes, those beautifully green eyes that would light up at the promise of a good time, and that laugh, when it was genuine, or when Pablo would all-out bust a gut with laughter, face smiling under the curly hair and his bright eyes brighter than ever, summertime green and...

..._oh_.

Lovino cleared his throat as his own face began to feel warm, but he simply looked at Pablo with what he hoped was a serious expression without it being a mean one. "Hey. Pablo." No response from the other except that Pablo began to look away from him. "Hey, look at me, come here." He set down his things and took Pablo's face in his hands, turning his head toward his own so that their eyes met. He took a long look into those eyes, brown from contact lenses, and sighed. "You don't look like him. I promise. Even with the curly hair and the green eyes, you don't... look anything like him anymore, Pablo. Okay?"

The silence this time was comfortable, meant to be there, and Pablo's eyes averted again. Lovino shook him a bit and their eyes met again. "_Capiche_?"

Pablo sighed this time and then nodded quietly until Lovino let him go. Lovi turned back to his food, letting the boy maybe think about what he said, and then felt his face heat further with his next thought; softly, he uttered, "_He's_ starting to look more like_ you_, to me."

And now all seemed to be forgiven, and Lovino's heart skipped a beat when Pablo smiled. The next thing he knew, Pablo whispered a soft "_te amo_" and kissed Lovino right on the cheek. Bright red in the face now, Lovino shoved him away and only when the boy backed off did he murmur under his breath, "_Ti amo, ragazzo_."

After a moment, he added, "Your haircut still looks stupid," and continued to stir the soup.

* * *

**A/N:** _Merry Christmas, Kanki Youji. Hope you like it._


End file.
